So Sorry
by mamadillo
Summary: Near end of S5:E8 between scenes. Lucien did not seem particularly easy leaving the cemetery. This may take a while.
1. Ch 1 - Long Night

_Okay, this is a story not just drabbles, folks. It's been fermenting a while, not quite finished yet, but hopefully this part at least is ready to serve._

 _It references some of season 5 which I'm not sure I remember completely correctly and have lost access to. The story falls during the last episode (not movie) between the cemetery scene and Christmas at Blake's. Constructive criticism is welcome, particularly for being out of canon and my lack of Ausie-ness._

 _Many thanks to the writers and actors who established these characters and let us play in their world._

OoOoO

Matthew heard Lucien shouting and stumbled into the hallway toward his friend's room fast as his leg would allow. What the hell was going on?

"No! Jean! NO! Get down, Jean! For God's sake, just stay down! No, Jean! Behind me! Please, not Jean, not my Jean. You don't have to … please, Jean! No, Jean, it's me he wants. Please just stay behind me, Jean." Something crashed behind the door.

Matthew called through the door, "Blake? Blake! You alright in there?"

"Don't! NO!" The cries on the other side of the door dissolved into pleading sobs, "Jean, don't go. C'mon, Love, stay with me. Please … Please."

Charlie caught his superior's hand just before he started pounding. Sleepily, Charlie tugged him toward the kitchen, "It's alright, Boss. Just his night terrors. Jean says they're triggered by something that reminds him of the war, but they hadn't bothered him in months, not even after that Walker stabbed him, at least not after he came home. Did hear a coupla nurses say they'd had to sedate him the nights he was in hospital though, to keep him from pulling out his stitches and from keeping the whole place wide awake. Y'want tea?"

The older man asked, "So you've dealt with that before then?"

"Really, Boss, it doesn't usually get as loud as that, and most don't last more than a minute." While they sat at the table waiting for the water to heat, Charlie continued, "If they do, Jean comes down and sees to him. But I think Doc slipped a mickey in her sherry tonight; after all she went through this afternoon, I imagine he wanted to see her get a good rest. Too bad he couldn't get one, himself."

"But that didn't seem to be war related."

"What d'ya mean?"

"He was yelling as if someone were after Jean."

Charlie poured the tea into the cups Matthew had gotten down. "But I thought Baker was after Doc this afternoon, and Jean was just nearby."

Matthew corrected him, "Baker came upon Jean in the cemetery. Blake found them there. He tried to convince Baker to let Jean go, but she wouldn't leave without Lucien. Wish I'd arrived earlier to see more of that exchange. Even sounded like he might have mixed those events with what happened to Munro."

Charlie nodded toward the doorway where a sheepish and disheveled Blake stood. "Matthew, Charlie, I am so sorry I disturbed your night." He rubbed his face sleepily and motioned to the teapot, "Enough left for one more?"

"Well, it is your house." Matthew poured what remained into the fresh cup Charlie handed him.

"Jean says it's bad form to scare the guests and boarders. And … she'll be upset she missed the tea party, if she finds out."

"Well then, we won't say a thing," Lawson glanced pointedly at the younger man who nodded, before studying his friend's face again. "You alright, then, Blake?"

"Yes. Well, I think so, anyway." He scratched the back of his head nervously.

Charlie took his cup and saucer to the sink and began to draw water to wash up.

"Leave that for me, Charlie. I don't think I'll be sleeping any more tonight."

The younger man closed the tap and headed for his room. The doctor stepped over to take his place at the sink.

"Lucian, are you sure that's wise?"

"What? Washing up? I'm sure it'll be fine. I'm not quite that hopeless."

"Foregoing sleep, on top of all the drunken mess you've made of yourself this past few weeks … "

"Of course it's not, Matthew. But when the alternative is either more whiskey or more nightmares … well, I think you see my dilemma? And Matthew, after the last few days, I think the whiskey and I have done enough damage here."

An uneasy quiet had just settled between them when Lawson prodded, "So, when will you be back at the station?"

"I won't, Matthew. I can't, not now."

"You know I'll still need your statements, yours and Jean's, about Baker."

"Then you'll need to take mine now, and you can get Jean's later, after breakfast. Now give me that cup, please," Blake growled.

"Surely, you don't mean to keep me up with you … Some of us do have to report for work as usual."

"I'm sorry, Matthew, you're right." The doctor finished drying the teapot and set it gently in its place and hung the towel to dry. "I'm going to my study for a while. If you think you can trust me, you'll find a complete account on my desk when you're ready for it."


	2. Ch 2 - Morning Discovery

_Not entirely happy with this attempt but it keeps the ball rolling. Any helpful suggestions, particularly for the last couple paragraphs?_

OoO

"Morning, Jean." Matthew sat down at the table for the second time that morning.

"Morning, Matthew. Charlie's already off to the station," she replied, "Sorry about being such a spoil sport last night and retiring early. I couldn't seem to keep my eyes open."

"Lucien spiked your drink, you know," Matthew smirked.

"Not really surprised. Yesterday was awful, wasn't it? Much left to wrap up?"

"Well, I need your statement about the encounter with Baker. I can do that before I head to the station, if you like, so you don't have to come down. Lucien said he'd leave his on his desk for me."

"Certainly. Now while you're eating, or can I tend to some chores first?"

"Chores first. Then, if you don't think Lucien will mind, we can sit in his study so I can use his desk. I imagine he'll be rather late stirring."

Jean headed out to the sunroom first. She made her way slowly around the room humming a jazz tune she'd picked up, gently deadheading the various spent flowers and browned leaves, and plied the watering can as needed, before heading to the newly potted violets on her desk and the jade plants she'd put in Lucien's study to try to liven up the offices. She'd chosen something hardy for Lucien's because she never knew what he might do to it.

She saw the papers on the doctor's desk for Matthew and realized there was something on hers in the receiving area as well. She wondered what Lucien could be up to just these few days before Christmas as she opened the envelope he'd left her.

Suddenly she cried out, "Matthew!" She darted into the hallway and quietly opened the door of Lucien's room, "Oh God, no. Matthew!"

The superintendent caught her shoulders in her dash toward the kitchen. "What's wrong, Jean? What's the matter?"

"Have you seen Lucien this morning?" She still clutched his note in her hand.

"No … well, not since about 1:30, anyway. What's wrong?"

"He's not in his room either. Wait, what was … ?"

"Nothing important, Jean. What's in that note that's got you so upset?"

"Oh, Matthew, I'm afraid he's done something foolish … again." She thrust the paper at him.

 _Dearest Jean,_

 _I am so sorry. I've never meant to hurt anyone, particularly you. All you've ever done, even before I could see well enough to appreciate it, was to try to help me. And all I've ever managed was to hurt you one way or another._

 _Baker was right, you know. For all my "bloody brilliance," all I ever seem to manage is hurting people who get close to me. You, Li, Mei Lin, Father … so much pain at my fault … Joy, Ned, William and too many others you'll never know have all died because of my arrogant stupidity._

 _I can't stand the thought of hurting anyone anymore, hurting you any more. I'm taking as little as I can. What's left is yours. I never meant to take anything away from you. Maybe I can get my head straight. But know I won't stop loving you. Oh Jean, I am so, so sorry._

 _Yours_

 _Lucien_

"Oh Matthew, we've got to find him before he hurts himself. What state of mind was he in when you saw him in the night?"

"At first he was just embarrassed, but then he got … not really aggressive, but well, maybe angry with himself. Didn't seem dangerous at the time, or I wouldn't have left him to himself." His plan for only a half-day in the office flew out the window. "You're not going to like this, Jean, but before I can start looking, I have to get this Baker business cleared up. Did Lucien leave anything on his desk for me?"

"Yes, you're right. He did." She led him into Lucien's study, and Lawson sat down behind the desk.

The superintendent muttered, "Damned ass," when he unfolded the short note atop the three page report. It said simply, _"Watch out for her, Matthew."_ To Jean he said, "Fine then, I'll look over his statement, and give Charlie a ring at the station and let him know what's up. While I do that, you take a quick look 'round and see if you can figure out what Lucien took with him, maybe even what he's wearing so we can put out a description."

"Thank you, Matthew." Stepping into the waiting room, Jean looked out the window and realized Lucien had taken the car. She passed into the hall and her eyes quickly took in the hat and coat he'd left behind. She made her way into his room and found his travel cases under his bed, but not his old army knapsack. Several drawers had been rifled through, but just two shirts and a green cardigan were gone. He'd also worn his heavy grey trousers and his every day shoes, but taken extra socks. She called out, describing the clothing to Matthew in the office. Looking into his wardrobe she noticed something missing from the shelf.

Jean was back within five minutes and dropped into the chair across the desk from the superintendent while he was still on the phone and waited for him to look at her. When he turned toward her, she whispered, "Matthew, he's taken the car and … his gun's missing."

"Aw hell. Charlie, put out descriptions of his car and himself … yeah white shirt, grey slacks, possibly green cardigan. The dark one?" he repeated and looked to Jean for confirmation. At her nod, he continued, "yeh. Then get over here to collect these statements, fast as y'can. I'll have Jean's written out by the time you arrive. Oh, and Jean just said she thinks Blake's taken his army sidearm."

By the time Charlie finally arrived, Jean had given Matthew her statement about Baker and discovered two woolen blankets, a pocket torch and some fruit and bread had gone. The whiskey bottle remained in Lucien's desk drawer, but the level was lower than she remembered. He'd probably filled a flask or two. She'd looked for his pain pills, and found an empty vial in a rubbish bin and called both Colin Moultrie at the chemists to verify what she suspected and Geoff Nicholson at the hospital to get advice on what to do about it.

After taking Jean's statement, Matthew realized there were a few discrepancies between their accounts of what was actually said, particularly by Baker. Of course, Blake may have transposed some of Baker's diatribes from previous encounters with yesterday's events, but with Lucien's disappearance what worried Lawson most was what his friend thought Jean had said. As he considered, he began to think where Blake might have run to, places they'd retreated to as lads, in addition to the club, the station, the morgue …

With that thought, he rang Alice at the hospital; she hadn't seen him at all that morning, but even after checking with the sisters on each floor, there was no sign of him. And no reports of his car involved any accident either; at least that was something worth telling Jean, he supposed. Then Lawson realized, with the car gone and a six or eight hour jump on them, hell, the doc could be facedown in a back alley in Melbourne, or wandering aimlessly in the Grampians, or nearing Christopher Beazley's army base in Adelaide – even well on his way to Hong Kong or Shanghai or anywhere else in the whole blooming world, for that matter.

The superintendent was rather short with Charlie when he arrived, demanding why he hadn't said anything about the Holden being gone before he'd headed for the station two hours back.

"Sorry, Boss, but it wouldn't be the first time I've seen him take the car to stare out over the Lake at odd times. In fact, he was out there around dawn twice last week. I drove past his usual spot on the way here, but no sign of him."

Just as Charlie gathered the papers he was to take to the station, the phone rang. He grabbed it quickly, "Blake residence, Davis speaking. Really? So we've caught a break, then. Already started looking? Shorthanded," he listened and snorted softly, "sounds familiar. Right. Yeah, I'll tell him."

"Boss, that was Connall at the station. He's already heard from Hall's Gap that a Holden just like Doc's stopped for gasoline early this morning; servo attendant thought it odd finding someone waiting already when she got there at 5 am to open. Then about an hour ago some trekkers called the Dunkeld station saying they'd found a car abandoned off the side of a dirt track east of the Silverband Road out toward Stony Peak; they stopped to check if anyone needed help, but no one was there and th'engine was already cold. They've got fewer men out there than we do, so they're not keen on sending search parties unless there's an imminent danger or if the car's not moved in a coupla days, probably after Christmas."

"Lazy bastards. You might as well take me back to the station, Charlie. There's no way I'll be any good to search up there. We'll send someone up there ourselves." He hoped that someone familiar would be less likely to spook his friend if he was in one of his less stable moods.

As Lawson rose to leave with his senior sergeant, Jean insisted they take a bag of sandwiches and biscuits and the large flask of tea, she'd packed to sustain the searchers, since no one could tell how long they'd be gone.


	3. Ch 3 - Into the Wild

_Notes to readers: Thanks so much for your patience. Real life has taken more time and has been more draining than I'd like lately._

 _Parts of this story are coming together slowly because my brain and heart keep rabbit-ing off on different possibilities. It doesn't help that I'm rarely completely satisfied with phrasing, even though this is my native language, often with an offbeat American flavor._

 _Parts of the story have taken more research than I have time for, so I'm ready to push it off and enter the This-is-Fiction Zone and apologize in advance for lack of geographic (and all other) realism from here out. Though I will say I was fascinated by a map which showed the Burma Track coming south off the Silverband Road, apparently not too far from the Valley of Mystery. (How could I resist those two suggestions?)_

 _ **Recap:** After confronting a murderer in a cemetery, Blake's nightmares waken Lawson & Davis in the wee hours. Fearing a return to sleep, the doctor goes to his study. Later Jean and Lawson find his written statement of events and some rather ill-thought-out personal notes, but Lucien has gone. We now return to follow Blake's side of things._

 _OoOoO_

Lucien sat head in hands staring at the blank paper in front of him trying his best to remember. The wee hours usually found him here drinking to forget. The early morning was quiet, but he strained to focus on the events of the past few days to provide Matthew as accurate an official statement as he could. This was easier said than done with the fog he'd been maintaining, even nurturing with the pain medication Geoffrey had given him a few weeks ago on top of his usual whiskey. Just as he'd previously struggled to lessen his dependence, the past several weeks he'd become desperate to back up his self-reported claims of drunkenness to ensure the dissolution of his previous marriage, and as he'd tried to explain to Mattie years ago – Desperate men often do foolish things.

 _Damn himself for an idiot_ for hanging on too long and not having Mei Lin declared dead years ago. But he knew he couldn't. He _had_ loved her, and, if he owed her nothing else, it had been the thoughts of Mei Lin and Li that had kept him from giving in to hopeless madness or death in captivity.

He sorted through the recent events with Baker and Munro, straining to fit the pieces together, trying to explain sensibly his admittedly scrambled recollections and write it all out for Matthew in his best hand. He recalled Baker's accusations in the failed store not that long ago and again at the cemetery just yesterday – the descent from his weeks of continual inebriation amplifying, not Baker's, but his own guilt and blocking out any offsetting evidence to the contrary. He explained the clues that finally led him to the cemetery. He considered and recounted Jean's reckless bravery, and how unnecessary it should have been. He recalled (erroneously, it turned out) Jean arguing Baker might as well kill her, saying she'd nothing left to live for.

 _Damn himself twice for an idiot_ _and_ _a fool_ for leeching everything good from the very person who'd prodded and cajoled him back to life like one of the half-dead plants she rescued. He owed her far better than he'd given, perhaps more than he was _able_ to give. How he longed to try again, but his heart began to run away before his mind could form a plan, if this jostling of fears and fragmented thoughts could be called that.

He finished the report for Matthew and signed it, added a quick request, and wrote a letter of apology to Jean. He hastily threw a few things in an old ruck sack and made his exit before he could do any more damage. He jumped into his car at first unclear where he was going, just craving open spaces where he could not hurt anyone else, where he might clear his head in peace, maybe remember who he was supposed to be.

Well before dawn he found himself pulling up at a servo near Halls Gap. Of course the petrol pumps were off, so he slid down in his seat and tried to make himself comfortable as possible for the wait. Christmas forgotten in his slowly clearing, personal fog, there was no real urgency to his errand.

Shortly, he steered the Holden, its tank nearly full, gently off the side of the gravel track. He grabbed his pack and set out to see if he could find his way. Nature's beauty was riotously abundant out here, just as it had been years before when he'd come this way and walked into the mountains having left the army, trying to sort the different angers and pains that plagued him, leaving at least a few behind him. If memory served, the hill was not quite so steep a little further south. There he'd cross the gap in the ridge where the slope was more gentle and follow the valley westward and hopefully find the place he'd camped with his school chum during the term break when they were boys.

Still moving slowly, he tried to recall what the flora and fauna were called, but he'd never been particularly good with identifying wildlife, except the venomous reptiles and edible weeds survival had impressed into him as deep as the scars on his back – though with only a few exceptions he'd never acquired their right names. All in all, he wished he'd paid better attention; if nothing else, the attempts at labeling what he saw distracted him from darker recitations, labeling and categorizing the failures crowding the edges of his attention.

Was it already eleven years since he'd finally left the army? Lucien's pace dwindled to a standstill, and he rotated slowly, trying to remember, scanning his surroundings for something familiar. Surely he'd not forgotten the way in that time. After all, it had been over twenty-five years before that, when Jeremy Hawkins and his dad took him up during the term break the first time. He ran his hand through his hair pausing to scratch the back of his head. He knew there should be a turning somewhere near here, if he hadn't completely lost himself. Deciding he needed a better lookout, he looked for a path up the steep hillside, belatedly realizing boots would have been better for this trek than the shoes he had on. He gave in and scrambled up the 15 foot rise leaning forward to use his hands as well.

Some time later he stopped to rest, after backtracking and adjusting his course. The weather was certainly hotter than it had been years before, but it _was_ December. What had he expected? He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and squinted out across the valley, looking for the stream he hoped the summer had not dried up completely. Time might have stood still for what he saw, but as he squatted, leaning back into the shade of the rocks that bore his weight, his slightly laboured breathing and his once more breaking heart reminded him it had not.

He dug the larger flask from the depths of his pack and took one swallow before recapping it and making sure it stayed at the top of his pack. As he rested he heard the insects begin their small noises anew, then startled when a lizard scurried across his hand quieting them again. He shouldered his gear once more and set out again with the flask easier at hand; he'd likely need another swallow soon, even at his meandering pace.

Struggling to stay a few steps ahead of the thoughts that amounted to his only company, he studied his surroundings and drew some comfort from the beauty of this place not so harshly touched by members of his race. He couldn't help thinking, Jean would love this place which was so full of life. He continued walking not quite aimlessly, still making for the dimly remembered stream he had spotted from the ridge he'd left behind, sweat now soaking his shirt, and nearly jumped from his skin when a pair of birds objected rather loudly to his presence and what they must have considered strange behavior. After all, who goes walking among the rocks at midday in the summer?

Cresting yet another rise, he breathed deeply and decided it might be wise after all to find a shaded spot to rest a while. Exhaustion should keep the terrors away, and if it didn't, there was no one here to take offense. Scanning his surroundings with more purpose, he kept moving toward a likely spot beneath an overhang a good distance below him on the steep hill he was descending, still generally westward in the direction of the stream. He lost footing a couple times, his pack overbalancing him, and ended up skidding the rest of the way.

 _OoOoO_

 _Further Notes: Not sure of my terrain, particularly distances. I assume Lucien, lost in thought, is moving far slower than nearly any reasonable person would._

 _Aussies, feel free to add notes in Reviews that correct details for potential visitors to the areas mentioned, and in advance, No I don't know why Lucien is going this way instead of down the Rosea Track which would probably be closer and have easier trails to where he's headed except that it's the way he came on a term break with a friend and the other boy's dad when they were 12 or 13 years old._


End file.
